


Same Old Stars

by tarquin



Category: The Creatures (Youtube RPF)
Genre: M/M, minecraft au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 06:54:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3347696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarquin/pseuds/tarquin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a cool, quiet night in the settlement, and Seamus is awake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Same Old Stars

It’s a cool, quiet night in the settlement, and Seamus is awake.

Some nights here are too cool; when the clouds gather overhead to send down a flurry of snow and rain that makes him, not for the first time, question why they chose this place to put down roots. During those times Seamus is usually forced to fold his hand and drag his bed inside, off the balcony that overlooks the valley and into his empty room surrounded by doors.

Similarly, some nights are too quiet. Nights when he can’t hear the distant clucks of the chicken farm down below, or beyond that the quiet lapping of the sea at the shore. Those nights are eerie; their new home has very few comforts for offer them yet, so the lack of one or two things that has made this place bearable is upsetting. When it gets like that, Seamus will once again grit his teeth and admit defeat, too spooked by the big open world to stay out for long. Instead he settles in to sleep closer to where he can hear James prattling around with his potions across the way, or pretend he can hear Kevin down below.

But tonight, all things considered, is fine. Tonight the wind blows the settled snow away from them, and what breezes that do reach him don’t permeate past his blanket. Not far behind him Aleks maneuvers around in the church, arranging and rearranging his things, all while humming a quiet hymn to The Creator. There’s a distant threatening rattle of bone and quiver somewhere, but the wooden border keeps Seamus safe, same as how the continual crackle from the furnace keeps him warm and his area well lit.

This place isn’t his forest, with its view of the Desert Rose and that Terrible Carl. Some nights (like tonight) that fact is too apparent for its own good. But this is home now, and he’ll make the best out of what he can.

Seamus is drifting off to sleep, somewhere in the hazy midland between resting and awake, when the whinging of a door brings him back to attention. Seamus is no stranger to doors of course, he considers himself a salesman and connoisseur of sorts, and this one he recognizes all too well. It’s the sound of the carved wood dragging on top of piled stone and very near-bye, it could realistically only belong to one person.

He could ignore Jordan; Creator knows it wouldn’t be the first time. But when his neighbor doesn’t make any immediate sounds, no emptying or refilling of his furnace, no shooting an arrow down at a far-off enemy, Seamus’ interest is piqued. Rolling over, he comes to see the blurry shape that makes up the boy with his palms flat on his own balcony, leaning carefully forward with head tipped toward the world below. Jordan’s hat tips slightly towards his brow, but not far enough to be concerning.

Seamus hums a discontented note, reaching blindly around until his glasses are secured over his nose.

“What the hell are you-?” He gets this much out before Jordan jolts, caught off guard and jumping to attention. The act is made all the more dangerous considering their homes are placed so precariously. Seamus doesn’t get to finish his sentence, but he does laugh.

“Seamus!” Jordan yips as he gathers his wits about him, smoothing his shirt and securing his red cap after a moment. Seamus huffs a more pronounced laugh as he swings his legs over the side of his bed, hissing as the cool wood sinks in to the warm pads of his feet. As Jordan watches this he absentmindedly lifts a hand to the back of his head, wincing carefully. His fear fades to empathy and he asks, “Sorry, did I wake you up?” 

“Only halfway.” Seamus says through a yawn. Another breeze comes and tries to seep into his bones. He shivers. The furnace will need a fresh load of coal before he calls it a night for the second time.

“Yeah well, sorry anyway.” Jordan says, turning his attention away from Seamus and back to the landscape below. “Couldn’t sleep, thought I’d come out here so the fresh air could help.”

“Fresh air will do that.” Seamus hums, unceremoniously wobbling his way on to the edge of his balcony and hopping over to Jordan’s. He’s up now, properly awake, and the look in Jordan’s eyes is distant, lonely, and worst of all familiar. The cobble is even colder than the wood under his feet.

“But company helps too, I’ve heard.” Seamus announces, landing on the flat ground hard enough for it to sting.

There’s some kind of gleam in Jordan’s eye, a soft one that lets Seamus know that he’s done the right thing. Seamus joins him at the longest end of his balcony, letting his gaze wash over the farmland below. Dan’s shack is most visible, warmly illuminated, though the boy can’t be seen within. All the same he’s probably asleep in there, dreaming of chickens and farming and whatever else it is that he dreams of.

 Beyond that the rows of sugarcane rustle in the wind, as does the wheat farm, and the posts that border the chicken pen.

Even further away the mountains clash endlessly with the sea, though the distance is too far to smell the salt spray.

“What do you think of all this, Seamus?” Jordan asks. His voice is tepid, restrained, which probably has something to do with the fact that all answers to that question up until this point have been… less than positive. This isn’t the first time he’s asked through the group at large, but it is the first time he’s questioned Seamus alone. Still, his voice is restricted and there’s no need to elaborate, not with the settlement spread out just beyond their fingertips. Not with the mountains at their backs.

Seamus mimics Jordan’s posture, pretending the cold hasn’t begun to nip at his exposed skin and make his legs itch. The coldness of the cobble chews at his knuckles and he mulls the question over for a couple seconds. The distant hiss of a creeper and the rustle of trees fills his silence.

“Cold.” He says decisively.

This makes Jordan laugh and the sound is a comforting one in the expansive night, Seamus hums along with it for a second.

“Well you can thank James for that one.” Jordan says, gesturing to the white-topped hills around them. “A lot of this was his idea, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be sure to thank him later.” Seamus says, drawing his shoulders close to his ears then dropping them. When Jordan offers him nothing more, Seamus continues. “No it’s… it’s fine. It’s okay. It’s just different.”

Jordan looks at him. “Different good or different bad?”

Seamus looks back, swallowing a snort. “Neither. That’s why I didn’t say good or bad. It’s here, and we’re here, and it’s different.”

He catches sight of Jordan’s smile a millisecond before the breeze takes it away.

“Fair play.”

Far underneath them, the quick bang of a door being thrown open and shut breaks the night, and while the pair watch the vague form of Kevin hustles his way out into the open. His arms are wrapped tight around his shoulders to combat the cold, and a pickaxe peeks out from there.

“But we’ll grow.” Seamus says, eyes following the boy to the distant tree line. His voice isn’t hopeful, rather it carries finality. This isn’t something he thinks will happen, this is something he knows. “Give it time, us time. That’s what makes things stop being different, and makes them comfortable instead.”

Far, far out there’s a shout, Kevin’s baritone dragging across the fields. Not one worried enough to suggest he needs assistance, but the familiar sound of someone finding a few zombies where they thought there’d be none. Seamus can see Jordan trying not to laugh.

“I like the way you think, Seamus.” Jordan says, turning his gaze away from the horizon and zeroing in on the boy beside him. “Even if you are just saying it to make me feel better.”

Jordan says this with a voice so humble, Seamus’ shoulders droop and his tone takes an edge. The breeze pushes him, chills the words out of his mouth. He’s rolling his eyes as he says, “I come out here to have a nice conversation and you accuse me of coddling you. Honestly Jordan, what’s the point.”

This gives Jordan the opportunity to break into a short bout of laughter that ends just as Seamus crosses his arms. He isn’t angry, not really, but it’s funny to watch Jordan think so.

“Sorry. Again. Sorry, Seamus.” He says, working hard to piece back together the moment they were just having. It’s long gone by now, but Seamus recognizes the apology anyway. “It’s all just been…”

“A lot.” Seamus finishes for him, and Jordan cocks his head down at his companion slightly.

“Yeah.” He agrees after a moment’s pause. “A lot.”

“It’ll feel like less to take on when you’re rested,” Seamus says while Jordan turns back to the horizon. The chill is settling in and the moment’s that passing now urges him back to his bed, back to his empty thoughts. Jordan’s fingers tap lightly on the balcony. “Just a suggestion.”

Jordan pulls back then, turning slowly to the dimly lit stone dugout he’d made for himself not too long ago. It’s got some chests and a place to sleep, all the comforts of home and none at the same time, but there’s no missing the tight line of a frown on his face as Jordan considers his own bed.

Seamus feels a weirdness disturb the lowest low of his gut. When he opens his mouth to speak, his words are aimed to come out lighthearted. He says, “If you don’t want to go back in there, there’s always room at the Love Shack.”

When he’s finished, he can’t ignore how it almost, almost sounds like a plea.

 Despite what the signs and their inscriber brags, it doesn’t go unnoticed that, with the exception of Seamus himself, the ‘brothel’ has stayed empty since the day its roof was decorated with doors. Even thinking about sharing that emptiness with another person makes Seamus’ skin feel warm and strange.

“No girls allowed, right?” Jordan teases a moment later, but he’s already taken a step back towards his own place. Seamus doesn’t even consider letting the pang of disappointment that strikes him see through to his face. The Loveshack is, after all, a cold, cramped, drafty box. And just having another person there to make it not a lonely one as well doesn’t improve much.

“Of course.” Seamus replies in the same joking tone.

Jordan yawns, lifting his long arms over his head until the joints pop.

“Thanks, but I think I’ll try for my bed again first.” He announces, turning towards his structure. “Goodnight, Seamus.”

The sounds of footsteps reach the point where they’re reverberating off of inside the stone walls, and Seamus looks away from the mountains and the sea.

“Night Jordan.” He says, and the door shuts behind him.

Somewhere far below, a zombie moans. Kevin’s still out, collecting Creator-knows-what for his dungeon. The night moves on around him.

After clambering back to his own side of their homes (far be it for Jordan to invite him through so that Seamus wouldn’t have to jump,) Seamus watches the sky and debates heading inside. The night is clear, but anything can happen and he doesn’t want to wake up under a layer of frost again.

He opts though, if only for the band of stars that he can just see before he pulls his glasses up over his ears, to stay out a little longer. He stokes the furnace until the coals spit orange and red, and heads back to the comfort of his bed.

It’s cooled without him, but he pulls the blankets up tight over his shoulders. 

At first, the beginnings of sleep elude him and Seamus is just having to consider another sleepless night, something that’s followed him even here. He cringes at the thought, not when he was so close to escaping it once already. The hills and the valley aren’t really good company during long nights.

Then, through the cracked walls of a bedroom not far away, easy snores start to ease their way outside to absorbed by the cool night. Not before their rhythm reaches Seamus though. The sound of them, as much as a shout from James or a laugh from Sly, is familiar beyond all familiarity. And it, more than anything, finds the emptiness brought on from the unknown and shrinks it just a little. Shrinks it just enough.

Not long after that, as the moon stretches higher into the cloudless sky and the chickens make their racket far down below, he is asleep.


End file.
